


A Question of Faith

by hetzi_clutch



Category: Novitiate, Novitiate (2017 Movie)
Genre: F/F, and the 1960s tennessee gay scene, but this movie wouldnt leave me alone, cathleen remained at the convent and became a nun, everybody's conflicted but it gets better, gay induced identity crisis, hope you all like lesbian nuns, i loved this movie so much and there's no category for it???, it's what they deserve, non-nun side characters are all my own OCs, religion induced identity crisis, sfjlkkkhgd i love these lesbians so much i’m going to give them a happy ending, sister emanuel came back to visit and WELL, tagging for scenes of self harm, two years later continuation, well im about to fix that, yea so i know i have a supercorp WIP im ignoring and im SORRY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetzi_clutch/pseuds/hetzi_clutch
Summary: Cathleen never thought about her. Not once. She had taken her final vows, and committed herself to the life she had always wanted - one of absolute religious devotion.No straying thoughts. No distractions.Until she came back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literally ignoring all my WIPs and other projects to bring to probably approximately five(5) people a fanfic for a movie that's so unknown it doesn't even have a category. 
> 
> I can't help it though - that movie literally stole my heart and I couldn't stop thinking about it until I decided to put pen to paper, and it eventually turned into something much longer than I imagined (I originally envisioned a longish oneshot, but....no), so I've decided to hell with it. I'm gonna post it.
> 
> I don't know how long this will be, and I don't know if I'll even finish it. I don't even know if anybody will read this, because as far as I know, maybe like 2 people have seen that movie. Anyway, if you do read, and enjoy, I can't tell you how absolutely pleased I would be if you left a comment! Seriously, I would be bowled over, especially because I'm not entirely sure there's anybody in this fandom besides myself.

In the time since she’d taken her final vows, Cathleen could have said that she had never thought about Sister Emanuel, not once, not since the last time they’d seen each other, just before the end of their novitiate.

She could have said that, but she didn’t, because it would have been a complete and utter lie.

Instead, it would be more truthful to say that she had managed to scrub herself clean of the memory - slowly, over time, managing to block those lingering thoughts of her touch, letting them dissolve into the past like early mist on a sunny day. Gradually, every turn of the clock brought a welcoming distance between herself and that insidious temptation that dwelled deep within her - or had, long ago. Not anymore.

She was able to resign those memories to the a moment of weakness - a slip of judgment, unique in its occurrence. After all, hadn’t she delivered her penance? Hadn’t she been allowed to stay? Not just by the Reverend Mother, of course, but by God himself, who had sent her exactly the sign she had asked for? How likely could it have been, she reassured herself, for that cross - the permanent fixture which had stood undisturbed throughout her entire novitiate - to have clattered resoundingly to the floor at just the right moment? How much clearer a sign could she have been given?

And never - not once, not even when she was lying awake late at night, cold in her small, single-sized bed - did she ever wonder if perhaps, it was just a badly placed nail.

So she let the images go fuzzy in her head, turning them indistinct until she could barely remember the specific details - like the exact placement of the clock hands, the way she’d knocked three times, softly, and then twice more. It was easier, she thought, that the whole thing had taken place at night. The darkness obscured everything, made it seem like a dream. A fevered hallucination, perhaps, brought on by her starvation-induced illness.

Cathleen never thought about Sister Emanuel.

Perhaps that was a lie, but she worked hard to turn it into truth.

\---------------------------------

Two years, almost to the day, had passed since she had taken her final vows. Cathleen could count them on her fingers, the days remaining to mark that period, though there was no point in it. No nun kept an anniversary of her years devoted to God - or if they did, they kept it to themselves, safe inside their head. Safe, where nobody could see it, except God, if even he kept track of those things.

Her mom had long since stopped coming to every single visiting day. At the start she did, and Cathleen had made an effort to be friendlier, to reach out to her - but the rift was so wide. She had the feeling that her mother looked at her and saw only dark robes and a habit, the empty casing of a daughter forever lost to the self-righteous that her mother so darkly prescribed to the church. And yet, at the same time Cathleen found herself often biting down on the urge to desperately confess her sins - and to her mother of all people. 

She didn’t, though. She couldn’t. For however much she could rationalize it - loneliness, a wavering of faith, or even desperation in the absence of the correct sex - it didn’t matter. Those kind of things were forbidden, not just inside the Church, but everywhere. It was unheard of, despicable. A sin, or if not that, a medical condition. And her sins from that night were two-fold; not just the impermissibility of touching another person, but the abhorrence of touching another woman.

Not that it mattered, for it would never happen again. It was a one off thing, a singular trip-up - and in any case, Sister Emanuel was long gone. Cathleen would never have to worry about such a thing again. So she buried the memory and continued in her work, and never thought about that night or Sister Emanual again - or at least, tried to, and even succeeded for the most part.

That is, until she came back.

Cathleen was just finishing up her morning chores when she got the notice that a visitor had arrived for her. There was nothing abnormal about the message, passed on by a postulant, a young, fresh-faced girl who seemed far too excited about being surrounded by God’s presence everyday. She chattered about her experiences as she accompanied Cathleen to the visiting area, and as Cathleen listened she couldn’t help but think of the next few months, the year and a half of the novitiate that lay in wait, and felt bad for her. Still, she just smiled and nodded along, and almost got caught up in a rather entertaining story about the girl’s chronic inability to arrive on time to Mass when she entered the visiting room and saw her.

It was Sister Emanuel.

Cathleen’s heart froze. The air in her lungs turned to ice, and she was strike by the sudden inability to breathe.

Sister Emanuel was waiting for her, dressed in regular, normal clothes, faded jeans and a soft looking sweater, and she was watching Cathleen with wide, worried eyes.

“Cathleen - hi,” she said when she saw her, and took a step forward. Cathleen tried to speak, and found the words to be stuck in her throat.

“Sister -” A quick, almost indiscernible shake of her head caused Cathleen to fall silent. Right. Not a sister anymore. She gave a laden glance to the postulant, who took the hint and scurried out of the room, leaving the two alone.

“It’s just Gabrielle now,” she said after a moment of heavy silence, and clasped her hands together in a jerking fashion, as if she couldn’t think of what else to do with them. “I’m not a - well, you know I never became a nun, and so I thought it was rather silly to go by my last name so -”

“Right. Gabrielle.” Cathleen gave a twitchy nod of her head, as if by confirming the tidbit of information she could pretend that everything was going normally, and that this was a regular, unshocking occurrence. “I - I’m surprised you came to visit.”

Sister Eman - Gabrielle - gave her another smile, and it struck Cathleen that she had never really gotten the chance to see her smile when she’d been a Rose. She had always seemed so serious, so somber. So...holy.

“Don’t be,” she said softly, and her eyes crinkled at the corners with the words. “If I’m being honest, I’ve been thinking about visiting you for a while. I just...well, I didn’t have the courage, I guess.”

A handful of words, and yet they contained an overwhelming directness, far too much feeling to be directed at another person - to be directed at her. Sisters didn’t spend much time discussing their feelings towards one another. It was unnecessary, undesirable. If one had so many emotions towards another sister, then perhaps it was time to re-examine, to redirect those emotions towards God.

And now Sister Emanuel - no, she was Gabrielle, Gabrielle - was standing here, telling Cathleen that she had missed her, in so many words.

It was a lot to unpack.

“Thank you,” she said for lack of anything better, and then immediately felt like an idiot. A part of her desperately didn’t want Gabrielle to see her so unbalanced, so...uncool. Then she remembered that it really wasn’t supposed to matter what Gabrielle thought of her at all, and so she pushed the thought away, though the embarrassment lingered, a hot prickling on her skin that she couldn’t shake off. “I mean, thank you for visiting. It’s nice...to see you.”

The words kept getting stuck in her throat, and she could feel her face heating up, and to make matters worse she was almost certain that Gabrielle could see it too. So she gestured towards the chairs set up at a respectable distance (they had gotten rid of the webbed window over a year ago), and said quickly, “Do you want to sit down?”

“Oh - sure.” Gabrielle glanced at the chairs, and then at Cathleen, before sitting down delicately and folding her hands across her lap. Cathleen followed suit and they sat like that for a second, silently, each waiting for the other to speak. An oppressive restlessness began to fill the room, the air turning heavy between them. Cathleen began to shift self-consciously in her seat, uncertain of what to do.

“So how is -” Gabrielle began after a few moments.

“Why did you come visit me?” Cathleen blurted out the question before she could stop herself, cutting off whatever Gabrielle had been about to say. It came out rude, overly direct, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it back. Now that she was here, sitting directly across from Gabrielle, there was a strange swelling in her throat, a restless expanse of nameless emotion that she couldn’t push down. Suddenly, the need for an answer, for understanding, that she’d thought she’d dropped two years ago had come back in full demanding force.

Gabrielle didn’t look overly pleased at the question, and paused to suck in a breath before answering.

“That’s a complicated question,” she answered after a moment’s pause.

Cathleen shook her head. “It really isn’t.”

Gabrielle looked surprised at the almost forceful rebuttal, but Cathleen didn’t care. It suddenly seemed hot, cloaked in her dark robes, even though it was the middle of winter, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, her blood coursing hotly with something that was close to anger, close to excitement, or maybe both. A strange sense of outrage tingled over her skin, and she couldn’t figure out who it was directed at. Perhaps it was towards herself, towards her heart - or was it her body, or her fickle mind? - that had completely and utterly managed to betray her meticulously curated discipline.

Or perhaps it was at Gabrielle, who had the gall to just waltz right in, after all this time, and within just a few short minutes throw all of Cathleen’s careful self-control out the window - as if it were nothing. 

Gabrielle took a too-long second to answer, mulling over her response at what seemed an agonizingly slow pace. 

“I kept thinking about you,” she answered, finally, and with the answer came an unwelcome wave of relief. It washed over Cathleen, and she sucked in a breath at its intensity, wishing it away. It didn’t go, and she let out the breath, unsure how to feel about that. There was a part of her that had been waiting for that exact answer, she realized. Waiting, or hoping. 

Gabrielle didn’t hate her. She had thought about her. Missed her even. A weight eased in her chest. She hadn’t even known she’d been carrying it.

“I suppose because I left you here.” Gabrielle was still talking, explaining, and Cathleen snapped her attention back to her. Her hands, clasped together and buried inside her sleeves, clenched tighter. 

“I felt guilty,” she continued, and then backtracked almost immediately as she registered the look on Cathleen’s face. “No - not like that. Not regretful of you. I felt guilty for leaving, without even saying goodbye. For not talking to you.”

“Oh.” Cathleen nodded, and felt her fists, tightly clenched, relax ever so slightly. “That’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t your fault. And I sort of - I forced you. I made it happen.”

Gabrielle shook her head immediately, eyes wide. “No - that’s not - you didn’t force me to do anything. Those were all my own decisions. To leave, and to - everything.” 

“Okay.” Cathleen accepted the reassurances dubiously, but put them aside for the moment, to consider later on. She would not, she decided in that moment, dwell on all the doubts collecting in her head and clouding her thoughts, not when Gabrielle was sitting across from her in person, so achingly present that it made her heart throb. She wondered if Gabrielle knew just how hard Cathleen had toiled to lock away the memory of her, stuffing it away towards the back of her mind like a wrong puzzle piece, unable to fit into all of the other parts that made up her life. Now it had been drawn out, that ill-fitting piece, and it stuck obstinately in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t find it in her to throw the piece away. She wasn’t sure just what that meant for her.

Gabrielle was studying her intensely, doubt lingering in her brown eyes, as if she wasn’t quite sure that Cathleen believed her. Cathleen wasn’t quite sure herself, but she didn’t want to focus on that. She shifted uncomfortably, letting her sleeves fall away from her hands, and lifted her gaze to meet Gabrielle’s, who gave her a small smile. “I’m not sure if I already said this yet, but I’m happy to see you.”

“Me too,” Cathleen answered, and then, because she could see the question on her lips, plunged right into a new subject. “So what are you doing now? What have you been doing?”

The question fell from Gabrielle’s lips as she considered Cathleen’s query, and Cathleen felt a small wave of relief as she waited for her answer. Gabrielle had been about to ask about the convent, she was sure of it. She probably wanted to know the exact thing that Cathleen didn’t want to answer - whether Cathleen had been afflicted with the same crisis of faith as the countless sisters that had left the monastery in a steady stream over the past two years, thanks to Vatican II.

Cathleen would allow, in this moment, that perhaps she had struggled with a crisis of faith. But it wasn’t because of Vatican II.

“You ask big questions,” she told her, and Cathleen answered her with a small smile and the ghost of a shrug. 

“To answer your question, I’ve been doing a lot of things. Nothing very interesting. Some traveling, mainly working in different cities, towns. Just living. Trying to - find something, I guess.”

Cathleen nodded, absorbing the words. It was the barest bones of a description. She wanted more. “It must have been more interesting than here though. What kind of places did you go visit? Any big cities?”

“Well…” Gabrielle tapped her lip thoughtfully, and Cathleen stared. It was wrong to look at the her lips. Wrong to think about them. She didn’t tear herself away. “I did make it all the way to San Francisco.”

Cathleen let out an unintentional gasp of admiration, and immediately colored pink as Gabrielle caught the look and gave her an almost cheeky smile. “That’s - wow. That’s so far!”

She could have sworn Gabrielle was teasing her, because her eyes twinkled as she raised an eyebrow. “Impressed?”

“No,” Cathleen said immediately, almost defensive, and Gabrielle laughed, the sound filling the room. She had a pretty laugh, Cathleen noticed absently. “I mean - it’s just far. Did you see the Golden Gate Bridge though? What was it like?”

“Yes, and it was very neat. It’s not gold though, did you know that? It’s red, but it’s enormous.” Gabrielle seemed amused by Cathleen’s enthusiasm, if the quirk of her lips was any indication.

“Oh, I knew that,” Cathleen said before she could stop herself, and realized immediately that it was a silly, pointless lie - first, because she would have to confess later, and second, because Gabrielle obviously didn’t believe her.

“Right,” she answered, one eyebrow still raised, and leaned back in her chair, bringing one leg up over the other. Her jeans were faded, worn even, and Cathleen traced the whitened seams down to the scuffed brown flats she wore. Her whole outfit seemed well traveled in, as if it had stories to tell - as if she had stories to tell. “I wish I could say I had some far out stories to share about Cisco, but I just worked as a dishwasher there. It wasn’t very interesting.”

“C’mon,” Cathleen urged, and to her own surprise the words came out playful. A far away part of her wondered just what she was doing. “There must have been something interesting. You must have gotten all that - that slang from somewhere.”

“Slang?” Gabrielle tilted her head to the side, her dark hair tumbling to over her shoulders with the movement. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Cathleen said, and realized suddenly that she had been watching the way her hair tumbled freely around her neck far too closely. She ducked her head and looked down at her lap, busying her hands with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Cisco, far out, that kind of stuff.”

“Oh.” Gabrielle seemed taken aback as she considered this, and Cathleen wished she hadn’t said anything. She didn’t want her to change the words, to stop using them. They hinted at something larger, at other things in the world that she couldn’t see - that she didn’t know about. Things about the two year gap that lay between them, where it seemed as if Cathleen’s life had simply stayed the same, whilst Gabrielle’s - well, it had become all kinds of different. And there was some part of her that wanted to know every detail. 

Cathleen wasn’t supposed to care about those sorts of things. She knew she wasn’t, knew she couldn’t, but - there was something about Gabrielle’s presence here which sparked that same dangerous desire in her that she’d felt two years ago.

The longing for something more. For some richness in life that she couldn’t exactly picture, but could feel lurking just out of reach.

It was dangerous. It was too dangerous.

“You know what, I think I have to go.” She stood suddenly, ignoring the small stab in her chest at the fallen expression that stole across Gabrielle’s face. “I have a lot to do, you know, and I just -”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Gabrielle stood too, and Cathleen could tell by the look in her eyes that she was understanding in just the way that she didn’t want her to. “I probably shouldn’t have come back to visit, I know it’s very unusual, for non family members - “

“It’s fine, fine,” Cathleen stammered, and joined her hands together under her sleeves, twisting them together anxiously, hidden beneath folds of cloth. She began to back away towards the door “I’m glad you came, really, I am. I just need to -”

“Of course.” Gabrielle dipped her head, drawing her arms tightly over her chest. Her breath came out in puffs of white, and as Cathleen suddenly realized just how cold it was. She had gotten used to the chill of late fall, and her heavy robes helped, but Gabrielle was standing shivering in a worn red sweater, which hardly looked thick enough to keep out the cold.

She had nothing to offer her to defend against the chill, no extra sweater or article of clothing. The thought of reaching out to take her hand crept across her brain, and she banished it immediately. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” Gabrielle answered, but it was a lie and they both knew it. She gave a rueful smile. “I’ll have to dress warmer next time.”

Cathleen’s eyes widened at the words, as did Gabrielle’s, as she realized just exactly what she’d said. “I mean, I could come visit if you want me to, but I won’t, of course, because I’m not family, and I don’t want to be a distraction -”

“You’re not a distraction,” Cathleen jumped in, and Gabrielle fell silent, snapping her mouth shut. “I mean, you could come visit if you wanted to. I’d like it - and my mom doesn’t come very much anymore,” she added awkwardly.

Gabrielle nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing a faint pink - maybe from embarrassment. Cathleen couldn’t tell, but it made her stomach flutter strangely. “Okay, that’s great. I mean, I’ll come to visit. On the next visiting day.”

“Good,” Cathleen answered, and silence feel between them. She couldn’t think of anything to say, but she felt like she had to say something, so she opened her mouth - only to be interrupted by the bells that signaled the end of the visiting time.

“I suppose that’s all?” Gabrielle asked as the toll of the bell trailed off, and Cathleen nodded.

“Now I really do have to go,” she said, and turned to the door behind her, pushing it open - and then paused, hovering on the threshold. “Gabrielle?”

“Hmm?” Gabrielle answered from across the room, unconsciously rubbing her arms up and down against the chill. She looked a bit uncertain, standing forlornly in the small yet conspicuously bare room.

“Thank you for coming,” Cathleen said, and risked one last quick smile, the kind that filled up her face and reached all the way to her eyes. She didn’t see if Gabrielle returned it, because she was already out the door and halfway down the hallway before the sickening realization of what she had done hit her. Her breath began to come quicker, short gasps puffing out in white clouds, as her brain caught up to her chest. Her heart was beating fast, not like the fluttering that it had been doing in the room. This was a bad sort of fast, the kind of panicky pounding that came from knowing that she had done something wrong. Something bad.

And the worst part, the part that filled her stomach with a guilty nausea, was the airy happiness bubbling obstinately up in her throat from the meeting. She shook her head, trying to shake the image of Gabrielle, waiting for her in the drab visiting room, her red sweater hanging loosely over her thin frame, her faded jeans and her dark hair which feel freely over her shoulders, the way she laughed, her brown eyes crinkling warmly -

No. No. It was wrong. She couldn’t think about Gabrielle like that. Couldn’t think about her at all.

Her thoughts spun as the guilt sank heavily into her stomach, and Cathleen began to run.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains scenes of self harm.

The reforms of Vatican II had long been implemented, in name - but in name only. As with any beloved - albeit controversial - practice, the change of the written law only brought about a disposal of the more obvious methods. The culture of the old church, of the type of love exonerated by the older nuns, was far harder to wash away. It lingered in under-the-table conversations and methods, wrapped in an added air of righteous secrecy.

As with any outlawing, the old practices did not disappear immediately, but simply went underground.

Discarding the traditional dress was a process still in the making. Though it was tentatively allowed for nuns to begin wearing such dress as they chose - so long as it was modest - in practice, only a small minority took it upon themselves to seek out other clothing. Those that did had to deal with being quietly frowned upon by the rest of the sisters. As a result, the number of sisters who actually discarded traditional wear was very few.

The Discipline had long since been gotten rid of, but fasting had yet to disappear. It was not officially mandated, nor given as a penance, but it wasn’t uncommon to see a nun or a young novice sitting stolidly in front of an untouched plate, reassured by encouraging whispers and nods.

Physical punishment was not, of course, given out in the Chapter of Faults, but it was permitted discreetly under the guise of finding one’s own repentance. Not everybody chose to seek it out, but there were a fair number who stuck obstinately to the old ways, paying their repentance in less traditional forms of self punishment. 

Thus, over the slow course of two years since the reforms had been officially instituted, the old practices had fallen by the wayside - for the newest sisters. The postulates, the novices. Those who were not schooled automatically in the idea of love and sacrifice as two interlocking threads of faith, and such did not often grasp the importance of personal sacrifice in their relationships with God. Very few of those who came in after the changes had been applied took it upon themselves to seek out the extra penance so quietly encouraged.

Cathleen had never quite bought into the changes. She was too new to the church to wrap her head entirely on the enormity of the blow that was dealt to the traditional day-to-day life of the convent - and as such, the grand overarching effect didn’t really concern her. She never felt the need to cast judgment upon those who embraced the changes; after all, if that was how they believed that they would receive God’s love, who was she to tell them differently? 

For herself, however, she had never been able to imagine a love without sacrifice. They had always gone together, inextricably bound, a give-and-take that kept her in the perfect equilibrium from which she was equipped to receive God’s love. To deserve it, even. For how could she ever discard the hardest parts - the struggle, the sacrifice - and still believe herself worthy of remaining married to Him?

So there were ways she found to keep that equilibrium - to keep herself clean, in the light. Fasting was one, though she knew enough now not to push it too long. One day, then a break, then another if need be. Too many days in a row could cause problems, as she’d discovered once, two years ago.

Pain - simple, clear-cut, unflinching pain - was another. Inflicted upon herself, in controlled doses, it was an option she used sparingly, for lack of need - but it was there in any case, should she require it. She had hidden a razor under her dresser, carefully cleaned and sterilized, as her best substitute for the Discipline. She saved it only for the direst of times, and then brought it out only to make a couple of clean, neat lines upon her skin, gritting her teeth as she watched tiny droplets of blood roll slowly down her arm, only to collect them with a spare tissue before they fell. It was quick, neat, and simple, if a bit messy. The scars themselves were never very many, and easy in any case to hide under the long flowing robes of the habit. It wasn’t a tool she had to use very much.

After Gabrielle’s visit, Cathleen didn’t use it immediately. She prayed and prayed, endlessly, until exhaustion overtook her, and then she fasted, pushing it to two days rather than one, and still, _still_ , she could feel her attention slipping, those ugly, unclean thoughts clinging to her like oil. It sat in her stomach, a weight of black shame that slowly morphed into desperation, until she realized that she had no choice.

She waited until the nighttime, when she was in her room, alone, to remove the razor. Rolling up her sleeve, she gauged the white, almost translucent skin of her forearm, before bringing the utensil down - once, twice, four times - again and again and again, until a small river of blood began to slide slowly down her arm, threatening to stain the sleeve of her robe. Only then did she grab a napkin and sop up the mess, holding the wrinkled paper to the wound until the blood flow was stanched, and let the painful throbbing of the cuts pound steadily through her consciousness, chasing away the guilt and shame and driving away the insidious temptation that haunted her.  
_____

She wasn’t going to see her again. She had cleansed herself, rid herself of the sin. After all, she had not only fasted, but prayed for hours on end, and taken it upon herself to find physical punishment. The next visiting day was nearly a month off, and Cathleen was determined to let it pass like any other. She didn’t have to go see her, when she came. If she came.

As the days passed, the feelings faded, as did that desperate, wild longing that had crept up on her in those short minutes that they had been together. It was all so wrong, so unnatural and at odds with her day to day life, that slowly, Cathleen managed to separate herself from it. That must have been a different her, in the room. A weaker her, a her that struggled with her life as a nun, that couldn’t seem to be satisfied with intimately serving God. That wasn’t her.

And if Gabrielle came back, she wasn’t going to visit her.

Somehow, when the day came, she found herself sitting back in that same cursed room, her hands churning together anxiously as she waited for Gabrielle to appear.

It was stupid. She was being an idiot. Gabrielle wasn’t even going to come back, because she was probably in San Francisco, and Cathleen shouldn’t even have come to this stupid room -

“Hi.” The soft sound of Gabrielle’s voice came from the doorway, and Cathleen whipped around immediately, and then hated herself for it. She had eschewed the thin red sweater for a brightly patterned thickly knit turtleneck. It contrasted harshly with the drabbiness of the room, and Cathleen’s own dark outfit. For the first time in years, she suddenly found herself conscious of how she looked. It was a strange feeling.

“Hi,” Cathleen answered, but it came out high pitched and strangled. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I, um - I wasn’t sure, if you would - come.” The last word came out squeaky, and she cast her eyes downward and prayed that her face wasn’t turning red.

“I’m a little late, I’m sorry.” Cathleen didn’t look up, and instead watched her feet as they crossed the hardwood floor, hearing rather than seeing as she dropped into the chair placed opposite. “My shift ended later than expected, and I tried to get off early, but my boss wasn’t having it.”

Cathleen finally risked looking up as she finished her sentence, tearing her eyes from the floor only to find that Gabrielle was looking at her with such intensity that it was almost unsettling. She met the stare firmly, determined not to back down, only to be surprised when Gabrielle’s intense look softened into a smile.

“Anything interesting happen this past month?” she asked, and Cathleen almost snorted at the question - but caught herself at the last second, turning it into a cough.

“What do you think?” she tossed back at her, and Gabrielle laughed. 

“Alright, I’m not sure what I was expecting to hear,” she admitted.

Cathleen smirked, and, with a strange sort of bravado buoyed by the relief that Gabrielle had actually shown up, shook back her sleeve so as to count on her fingers. “Well, we have had one - two - three pregnancies, a dramatic fight between the priest and the Reverend Mother, and one postulate that got kicked out because she kept sneaking out to listen to records with some boy.”

Gabrielle raised her eyebrows at the gossip, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. “It seems like the Roses have become a hotbed for drama since I’ve left, haven’t they? Don’t tell me - the pregnancies are all virgin births.”

Cathleen stared at her, open-mouthed, and a beat of silence passed between them. Gabrielle waited, consciously, and the mischievous smile slowly began to slip from her face.

And then she dissolved into laughter.

She tried to hide it behind her hand but it just came out as a snort, which made Gabrielle laugh in turn, almost shyly, but then with more confidence.

She couldn’t help it - it was funny, and the kind of humor absolutely forbidden within the confines of the convent. It was the kind of joke her mother enjoyed throwing out, though with her it always seemed to come off rude and insensitive, as if she were laughing at Cathleen. Here, with Gabrielle, it felt like she were in on the joke - as if Gabrielle were inviting her to laugh together, rather than laughing at her.

Something lingered at the back of her mind, one of those thoughts that was too dangerous to dwell on; she hadn’t known that Gabrielle was so _funny_. It made Cathleen want to know just what else there was hidden about her. Whether there were other qualities that had failed to come to light during their short time together as sisters.

Like she had said. A dangerous thought.

Gabrielle was grinning with satisfaction now that she could see her joke had landed the way it was supposed to. She shifted in her seat, leaning forward ever so slightly. 

“I didn’t know you were so funny,” Cathleen told her, once her laughter had subsided somewhat.

“I suppose that never came up.” Gabrielle's voice was a murmur. She was still leaning forward, if only just, and Cathleen suddenly became aware of the shortened distance between them. She straightened up, having been nearly doubled over with laughter, and shrank back against her chair.

“Yeah, I - it didn’t,” she said lamely, and cast her gaze anxiously around the room, looking everywhere except at her - friend? It was hard to name their relationship. The only friends Cathleen had ever had had been sisters, and Gabrielle wasn’t - anymore. “Um, so, you said you were at work? Where is - what do you do?”

Gabrielle took the obvious attempt to change the topic with grace. She leaned back in her chair, and Cathleen felt her chest expand with relief as the distance widened between them. The closer they were, the more she felt she was being inexorably pulled in.

“I’m just a waitress,” she admitted rather sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to find more permanent work, but I don’t have much of an education, and, well, most employers don’t want to hire a women for any real job. I think they assume we’ll all end up married and pregnant sooner or later.”

Cathleen couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sarcastic way Gabrielle delivered the statement. She seemed so utterly dismissive of the idea, thought for all Cathleen knew, perhaps she already was married, or had a boyfriend waiting for her at home. The thought hit her, and it was accompanied immediately by a sudden wave of nausea. What if Gabrielle did have somebody waiting for her…?

Not that it mattered. Cathleen didn’t care one way or the other. It was just….she’d meant to be a nun, just like Cathleen. That meant staying celibate, never marrying another man, because God was the only relationship they were meant to be devoted to. So they idea that Gabrielle would leave the Roses, only to find some normal, human man, clashed so harshly with the picture in Cathleen’s mind that it made her feel almost sick.

She knew it made no difference - she hadn’t taken her final vows, after all - but it still bothered her, in some deep unidentifiable way.

“That’s - funny.” her voice was coming out squeaky again, and she hated it. She forced her gaze to rise, to meet Gabrielle’s eyes, who was watching her with something like - amusement? Curiosity? “I mean, I didn’t - didn’t know that, I guess. I never really had to think about it.”

“Me neither.” Her brown eyes were sparkling, and she definitely seemed amused, but there was also a hint of nervousness shimmering in her gaze, and Cathleen couldn’t imagine why. “Luckily, I found the Blue Rooster, and got to know the manager, and he gave me a job. It’s been working out so far.”

“G-good.” She wondered what exactly Gabrielle meant by getting to know the manager. Then she wondered why she cared at all. Gabrielle wasn’t a sister anymore. It made no sense for Cathleen to judge her based on the type of things, such as promiscuity, that were prohibited in the convent.

No sense.

“So what’s the Blue Rooster like?” she blurted out suddenly, trying to quell the question burning on the tip of her tongue. She had no business asking about Gabrielle’s private relationships. “What’s it - like a diner or something?”

“Or something.” Gabrielle let out a low chuckle. “It’s actually a cafe and a bar together. I mean, I work as a waitress in the cafe during the daytime, and then at night it becomes a bar.”

“Hmm.” Cathleen considered this information, which did little to stop the the question itching in her. “That sounds nice, I guess. I mean, I’ve never been to a bar, or anything. Or been a waitress.”

“It’s not that interesting,” Gabrielle said, a slightly rueful note in her tone, and leaned forward again, her hands sliding forward with the movement, resting lightly on her knees. “May I ask you something?”

Cathleen watched the movement, mesmerized. Her palms were upturned, and pale, her nails devoid of polish. Her hands looked warm and inviting. Suddenly, involuntarily, Cathleen found herself brought back to that moment in the clinic. She swallowed. “Yes?”

Gabrielle looked her steadily in the eyes, her gaze unwavering. Cathleen kept her gaze, trying to read the coming question in her eyes. It looked as if she were trying to decide something. 

There was a moment of hesitation, and then her expression firmed, and she stretched her open hand out towards Cathleen.

It was a clear invitation, and completely impermissible. They weren’t supposed to touch - she knew that. Cathleen knew that - and anyway, it wasn’t as if she hungered for that kind if intimacy anymore. Not from Gabrielle, not from anyone.

But she let her sleeve fall away from her wrist and her hand creep out. Gabrielle’s fingers found hers, tangling them together firmly. Her gaze never left Cathleen’s.

“Perhaps this is an invasive question, but - are you happy here?” she asked. The question sounded enough like her mother that Cathleen’s knee jerk reaction was to pull away - but something in the way she said the words stopped her. “I mean - did you make the right choice, becoming a Rose? Did you find what you were seeking?”

“I - I don’t know.” Cathleen stared at her, trying to decipher the questions. Or rather, trying to decipher the searching, almost desperate whisper in her tone. The question was directed at her, but it almost felt like Gabrielle was asking for herself. As if she needed some sort of confirmation.

She frowned at Cathleen’s answer and pulled back, her hand lingering just for a second in Cathleen’s before disentangling. The sudden absence of the weight of her hand sent a stab through her gut, followed immediately by a nauseous wave of guilt, and Cathleen jerked her hand back inside of her sleeve. 

“I’m sorry - I don’t know why I asked that,” Gabrielle said, but there was a strange, contemplative look on her face - guilt, too, but more than that. “I don’t - it wasn’t very appropriate of me.”

Cathleen tried a tentative half-smile, but she couldn’t hide her confusion. “What do you mean?”

“It’s -” she sighed, and gave an almost invisible flick of her head, as if trying to dismiss some thought. “I think...I felt as if I left you here, and I shouldn’t have. And maybe I had made the wrong decision - and, I wanted to know if you had. Made the right decision, I mean.”

Cathleen frowned. “You think I stayed because of you?”

The question came out too accusatory, and Gabrielle flinched - and then, of all things, had the nerve to look guilty. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

This time the flash of annoyance that ran through her was real. “Well I didn’t,” she said crossly. “I stayed because I wanted to be a nun - because I wanted to devote my life to God. And I still do.”

She wasn’t sure why she added the last part, except that for some reason she felt as if it needed to be said. As if it wasn’t as obvious as it should be. Well, maybe it wasn’t - or perhaps Gabrielle hadn’t realized that.

“Of course.” Gabrielle nodded vigorously, and Cathleen felt a hint of righteous satisfaction. “I’m sorry - I really don’t know why I asked.”

“It’s okay,” Cathleen answered, though there was still a roiling unease in her stomach. She had the sudden urge to demand just why Gabrielle had asked, but refrained. 

Gabrielle seemed relieved at the reassurance. She shifted nervously, and then stretched her hand out to check her watch. “Oh - you know what? I think I need to get going. It’s getting late.”

It was a bald-faced lie, and Cathleen could see it written all over her face. Disappointment swept through her gut, but she pushed it away, forcing it instead into a wave of righteousness. This was good. If Gabrielle didn’t want to be here, then it would be better for her - better for both of them, probably. “Okay then. I don’t want to keep you.”

She stood up, ignoring the way Gabrielle’s face seemed to fall at her easy dismissal. The other woman followed suit, and they stood awkwardly for a long moment, neither sure what to say.

It was Gabrielle who broke the silence. “If you don’t want me to visit again -” she let the question fall short, as if waiting for Cathleen to finish it. Her expression was a mixture of hope and trepidation.

“I, um - it was nice of you to visit,” Cathleen choked out. She didn’t trust herself to say anything more. Gabrielle’s earlier question was sitting on her chest like a weight, and the freezing room had somehow turned stifling. “I’ll let you go now.”

And with that she turned and fairly fled from the room, not pausing to see Gabrielle’s reaction, not pausing to let herself feel anything other than relief at escaping the confusing atmosphere that she always seemed to find herself in around her, as if it were her life at the convent that was far off and unreal, rather than the opposite.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter outside of the convent, and which also contains the OCs I have created as side characters. I usually try not to add a bunch of my own OCs when writing fanfics, but since the only characters besides Cathleen's mom that are in the movie are inside the convent, and a good part of this story is going to take place outside of the convent, well...I had to improvise. Oh, and I am not well-versed on the 1960s Tennessee gay scene, but I am trying to learn as much as I can, slang and all. So if you catch any anachronistic mistakes, I am sorry in advance. Beyond that, I really hope you all enjoy, and I'd be happy to hear any feedback :)

“So are you going to visit that girl again?”

Gabrielle cast Paul a severe look from where she was bent over, wiping down the last booth next to the bar. He simply wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, and brought his glass up to take another gulp, before bringing it onto the worn wood surface of the bar with a clatter. Specks of liquid remained in his beard, and she shot him a disgusted look, to which he grinned and reached up to wipe them away. He drank from one of the bar’s heavy beer glasses, but the liquid itself was cola; Paul made it a policy never to start drinking until the first of the bar’s patrons arrived.

“I don’t know,” she informed him, and stretched out to swipe the farthest corner of the booth with her cloth. Crumbs scattered from beneath the rag, and she grimaced as a few hit the floor. She had just finished mopping. 

“Why not?” Paul was watching her carefully, his expression now serious. He looked like a lumberjack, she thought, with his red plaid shirt, dark jeans, and heavy boots, which were currently propped up on a second stool. “Dontcha guys have a history?”

Gabrielle snorted at that, and straightened up from her hunched over position. “I don’t know about that. I mean, we were both nuns. Well, novices. It was a one off thing, and then I left. I don’t know what she is, or what she identifies as. Anyway, it’s not really my place to ask.”

“I see.” Paul nodded, eyes full of sympathy. “The classic tale of forbidden love. And inside a convent, no less. You should make a movie. And invite that girl to see it.”

Gabrielle flicked her rag at him. He reached up to catch it, but only succeeded in deflecting the projectile straight into his drink. “Hey! I wasn’t finished with that.”

“Oh, please, you had about one sip left.” she waved her hand dismissively, and reached up to pull at the knot of her kerchief. It was already lose, and she yanked gently at the cloth, letting her hair tumble freely around her shoulders. “Anyway, you own the bar. I think you can get all the free refills you want.”

“Maybe,” he grunted, and lumbered to his feet, snatching the glass up with him. Drawing the door back, he stepped behind the counter, and paused at the soda machine. “What time is it?”

Gabrielle checked her watch. “8:47.”

He shrugged, and moved his glass under the beer tap. “Close enough.” 

Gabrielle laughed, and stuffed her kerchief into the front pocket of her apron. “Do you need me to stick around for the bar?”

“Ehhh…” he stroked his beard with one hand, watching absently as the glass filled under the tap with a golden liquid. As soon as it reached the top, he reached out and slammed the lever shut. “I’ll have to check. Ben and Amy should be covering, but Marie called in to let me know she wasn’t feeling well, so I don’t know about her. Why, you got something better planned?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “Not really.”

“Well, then come hang out anyway, and if I need ya I’ll put ya behind the bar.” he grinned, his brown eyes twinkling, and she returned the smile with one of her own. “Unless you got plans with that girl…”

“Stop!” she clucked her tongue disapprovingly and leaned over the counter to smack him on the arm. “Paul, she’s a nun. Even if I wanted to visit her, they don’t let you more than once a month. Besides, I’m not even sure if she wants to see me anymore.”

“Well, when was the last time you went to see her?” he took a long draft from his drink, and set it down on the counter. Gabrielle watched him with amusement, and he gestured towards the taps. “You want?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. And it was about a month and a half ago. Last time I went....I think I made her a little uncomfortable.”

“Well damn, what’d ya do?” he leaned forward, setting his elbows on the counter, looking for all the world as if he were about to be privy to the latest of juicy gossip. “Come on to her? Offer to take her out? Kiss her right then and there? Highly recommended, by the way.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You’re utterly ridiculous. And no, none of that.” she sighed, and leaned against the counter as well, propping her chin into her elbow. Paul didn’t comment, but rather just raised his eyebrows again, waiting.

“I sort of implied that she might have made a mistake becoming a nun - not on purpose,” she added quickly. “But I think she took it that way, and got defensive.” 

Paul nodded solemnly at the words, lines etched into his face as he considered. “Hmm. I mean, that sounds like it could have gone better. But -” he amended quickly at the look on Gabrielle’s face, “- maybe if she’s getting defensive about something like that, could be she’s questioning it herself.”

Gabrielle sighed, blowing out an exasperated breath. “Maybe you’re right. But I was never sure if she ever questioned things the way I did. She always seemed so perfect, until she -”

“Snuck into your room in the middle of the night to make out with you?” Paul finished for her. Gabrielle hesitated, and then nodded rather sheepishly. “Now I don’t know anything about nuns, but that does sound like she’s questioning something.”

She cast him a quizzical look at that, one eyebrow raised. “And yet somehow she’s still a nun, years later, and I’m not. She must have figured out _something_.”

He just shrugged, unconvinced. “Or maybe she never had the opportunity to question.”

“Huh.” That was a new idea. She considered his words, tapping her finger slowly against her lips. “I guess I never thought about that.”

Paul let out a booming laugh, and reached over to clap her on the shoulder, before straightening up. “That’s why you’ve got me to consider things for you. I have a wise perspective, aged and sharpened through years of helping young confused individuals as yourself. I assure you, I am well-knowledged in the ins-and-outs of latent sexual awakenings.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes again at him, and straightened up herself, pulling back from the counter to settle onto her heels, though she kept her hands gripping the side. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I’ll tell you.” Paul swung his head back and grabbed his glass, tilting the last of its contents down his throat in one long gulp. He finished, swallowed, and brought the empty mug back down onto the counter, as Gabrielle wrinkled her nose in disgust “First of all, you wouldn’t have a job. Second of all, you wouldn’t be going to see her in - when’s the next visiting day?”

“Two weeks,” Gabrielle supplied helpfully.

“- in two weeks.” He wagged his finger at her. “And I don’t care if you don’t think she doesn’t want you there or not. She doesn’t have to see her if she doesn’t want to. You’re just letting her have the option.”

“Have the option…” Gabrielle tried out the words, rolling them around in her mouth. It was a good way of putting it - almost convincing. “If you really think -”

“Uh uh.” he shook his head, wagging his finger again with it. “I don’t think so. I know so. Now, the patrons are going to arrive soon, so how about you switch clothes upstairs and come on down and have a good time? I’ll call ya if I need ya.”

Gabrielle smiled at the clear but gentle dismissal. She had a feeling that she wasn’t going to be called all that much throughout the evening. Paul’s letting her stay on was less about the extra work, and more of a subtle way of keeping her out of her empty apartment, alone, for the entire evening. “You got it boss.”

She turned and made her way upstairs, smiling to herself as he called after her, his voice floating up the stairs, “You know I do!” She passed by his own quarters until she made it to the end of the hall, where he had set a small room aside just for the employees - to change clothes, to rest for a minute, or even to grab a cup of coffee from the beat up electric kettle in the corner. As she shifted out of her apron and uniform and into the jeans and long-sleeved shirt she had deposited in a corner at the start of her shift, she heard the tell-tale sounds of the patrons entering the bar - shouts and greetings, and then the first strains of music.

She listened for a second, paused, with one arm through her sleeve, and then sighed, letting out a breath of something that resembled contentment. She couldn’t remember ever being in a place like this before, where mutual love and caring wove so tightly between all the patrons, the need for comfort and self-recognition binding them together, perhaps out of a lack of any other such source in their lives.

The last place she ever remembered feeling so loved was in the church; in those rare moments during Mass or individual prayer, wherein she felt her soul touched before God’s presence, warmed and loved, treasured in His arms.

She didn’t feel that from Him so much anymore. It had vanished, for the most part, to be replaced by more human presences - human touch, even. She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. She wondered, sometimes, if that was what God wanted for her, or if He was only watching, angrily as she went about her life, slighting Him in such an obvious way.

She didn’t know. Sometimes, she didn’t care.

She pulled her arm all the way through, and then the next one. Her thoughts wandered back, as they so often did, to Cathleen, probably busying herself with prayer or other tasks around the convent. It was just about the time for Grand Silence - that is, if they still had Grand Silence now. Gabrielle had followed closely the changes in the church since she’d left, though she’d found herself unable to decide just how she felt about them. Whether they were good or bad. Probably a mixture of both.

She wondered what Cathleen thought of them. She wondered if Cathleen thought of her, at all, or if -

“Hey Gabrielle! You coming?” Amy’s loud and penetrating tones floated up over the sound of the music, and Gabrielle shook her head, snapping herself out of her reverie. That was a dangerous, not to mention useless, headspace to be in.

“One second!” she called back, and paused only to roughly fold her waitressing uniform, before stuffing it unceremoniously in the corner. Turning on her heel, she flicked the light off with a sense of determined airiness, before striding out of the room.

It was no good to think about Cathleen, not when she couldn’t do anything about it. Two weeks stood between her and their next visit - if she decided to go at all. Until then, she would just focusing on the life she was trying to build.

By the time she reached the stairwell, where Amy was waiting impatiently at the bottom, arms crossed and a lit cigarette dangling in one hand, she had almost entirely succeeded in clearing thoughts of the convent from her mind.

“Geez, you took so long I thought you bugged outta here or something,” Amy told her crossly, and moved to the side of the tiny stairwell to let her pass. Her curly hair made a thick halo around her face, and her dark eyes shone through a thick layer of translucent blue mascara.

“Sorry,” Gabrielle responded, and ducked by her, back out into the main area of the bar, which was already starting to fill with people. “I miss much?”

“Nah.” Amy followed suit, taking one long drag on her cigarette before stepping out of the stairwell. “Paul says you’re not on the bar tonight, but we might call ya if it gets busy, so stay free okay? Don’t get too busy chasin’ skirts.”

Gabrielle snorted with laughter, and then cast her a sarcastic look. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to pick up girls where I work?”

Amy just gave her a rueful grin, and let out a chortle, before taking another pull from her cigarette. “Yep, sure did, and I speak from experience. Never a good idea to mix work and pleasure, and all that. You, however -” she jabbed the half-finished cigarette at Gabrielle’s chest. “You could use a good lay, I reckon. You’re kind of uptight.”

“Thanks,” Gabrielle told her flatly, and received nothing but an unapologetic grin in return. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Atta girl.” Amy chortled again to herself, and flicked her almost gone cigarette into the nearby ashtray, before slipping behind the bar. “And Gabs - try and have some fun!”

Gabrielle just nodded at her and smiled faintly, before settling into a nearby booth. As more and more people began to stream in, she watched them, and felt a warm contentment settling over her. This was where she belonged - among people like her, different and yet so very ordinary, all just trying to live out their lives as authentically as they could. This was her home now, inasmuch as she had one.

She wondered what Cathleen would think of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, so it’s been a while since I posted the last chapter, and I have to say that I did not in the least expect to have people actually leave comments on this fic! I can’t tell you how much it means for me to hear from you guys, and especially to know that there are other people who are invested in Cathleen’s and Gabrielle’s story like I am. I swear I am going to get around to responding to you all individually once I get the chance, but I wanted to focus on editing this chapter. I actually have the next twenty thousand words or so written, but I still need to go through and work to make them presentable ;)
> 
> Seriously though, your responses mean everything to me. Thank you so much for every kudos and comment.

Gabrielle didn’t show up the next visiting day. Cathleen waited, and tried to pretend that the disappointment she swallowed was something else entirely.

It didn’t really work.

The next month, she buried herself in the life of the convent. Prayers, chores, and whatever tasks she could find for herself in order to forget. She even spent a few days lending a hand with the postulants, until those who were actually appointed to attend to them shooed her away to other things, leaving her once more at loose ends. 

However, Cathleen couldn't help but wonder if it was faintly silly to bury herself in forgetting something so petty - something so insignificant. It was unusual for non-family members to visit a sister, sure, but not entirely remarkable. Gabrielle had come for a couple visits, to reminisce over her time as a Rose, and that was that.

She was reading far too much into it.

On the next visiting day, she didn’t bother to go and check for herself, certain of what she would find - or rather, who she wouldn’t. She already knew her mother would not be visiting, since their rare visits ended more often than not in tension-filled silence, and there was nobody else to come. So she took it upon herself to finish up some extra chores during the appointed visiting hours, and had almost succeeded in putting the irritating disappointment out of her mind, when another sister found her.

“Sister Cathleen, you know you have a visitor right?” she asked crossly as she rounded the corner, where Cathleen was methodically hanging up bed sheets to dry on the clothesline.

“I do?” she asked, surprise and hope creeping into her voice. She prayed the other sister wouldn’t notice. “Is it my mother?”

“No, it’s that girl who was a novice with you - the one that left.” Oh. That explained the crossness. The sister bringing her the message was considerably older, and had seen the entirety of Cathleen’s novitiate, along with probably a dozen others. She looked as if she were old enough to share in the top rings of the Roses’ gossip, which wasn’t meant to exist, and yet -

“Oh, okay.” Cathleen nodded quickly, ducking her head so as to avoid the disapproving glare leveled upon her. The older sister’s eyes followed her anyway. 

She began to pin quickly the next bed sheet. “I’ll, um -”

“Oh, I can do it.” the other sister stepped forward and took the sheet none-too-gently from her hands, leaving Cathleen to step back in surprise. “Go. You’ve already missed a good chunk of time as it is.”

“T-thank you,” Cathleen stuttered, and at the other nun’s dismissive nod, turned on her heel and began to move quickly in the direction of the visiting room. She forced herself to slow, trying not to look too excited, despite the fact that her skin itched with anticipation and she was moments away from breaking into a run.

She reached the room two minutes later, and burst through immediately, not even pausing to think about what she was doing. If she had, she might have reconsidered, or at least lingered for a moment to collect her thoughts.

But she didn’t, and nearly tripped awkwardly over her robes as she made it through the door. Gabrielle wasn’t sitting in the chair as she had expected, but was standing only a few feet from the door, as if she were seconds away from walking out.

“I’m here,” Cathleen told her breathlessly, as she regained her footing. She cursed silently at her lack of dignity, and then nearly choked on air as Gabrielle reached out a hand to steady her. “Sorry I’m late, I didn’t know -”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Gabrielle reassured her, her arm still gripping Cathleen’s tightly. Warmth radiated from the point of contact, and Cathleen prayed she wouldn’t let go, and then immediately felt ashamed. Was she really so weak as this? “I didn’t let you know I was coming. I, um - I don’t have a phone yet.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” they were still standing there, in close proximity, arms almost looped, and Cathleen felt Gabrielle’s fingers twitch, sliding down as if to grasp her hand.

And then she pulled abruptly away, not roughly, but enough to remind Cathleen of the boundaries meant to be between them. Cathleen drew back sheepishly, rubbing her arm for no reason at all, the ghost of her touch still lingering.

“Should we sit down?” Gabrielle’s eyes watched her anxiously, and Cathleen nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was afraid that if she did, something wildly inappropriate might come out, such as “I missed you last month,” or “were you avoiding me?”

“Were you busy last month?” she asked at last once they were seated, and then cringed at her utter lack of subtlety. “I mean, not that I was expecting you or anything - just wondering.”

Gabrielle seemed unsure of how exactly to answer the question. She picked at the sleeve of her coat - a real coat this time, not a sweater - and bit her lip, before finally letting out a resigned sigh.

“No, not really,” she admitted. “I mean, I have been busy with work, but the truth is, I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to come back here.”

There it was. Cathleen swallowed, and wondered dimly just why that simple sentence seemed to tear something deep inside of her. Somehow, she’d been expecting it, and yet it still hit her like a punch to gut. “Why - why do you say that?”

Gabrielle must have noticed the slight quiver in her voice, because she paused in her fidgeting, her hands poised on the edge of her sleeve, before she moved them down to rest on her thighs. She looked up at Cathleen and her eyes softened, though her expression remained somber. Her jaw set, and she leaned forward slightly, as if she were determined to get whatever unpleasant thing sitting on her chest out into the open.

“I don’t want to be a distraction for you,” she answered. Her brown eyes watched Cathleen searchingly, waiting a second before continuing. “You don’t seem very...at ease with my presence here, I noticed. And I know that sometimes it can be hard, and I don’t want to pull you away from your decision - from your devotion. It fits you well.”

“That’s -“ to tell the truth, Cathleen wasn’t quite sure what to make of Gabrielle’s explanation. It wasn’t what she’d expected. “That’s…kind of you, I guess. But you don’t have to worry about me. I think I can manage any distractions for myself.”

She accompanied her statement with a laugh, but it sounded hollow in her ears. That was a complete and utter falsehood - if Cathleen were capable at managing any possible distractions, she wouldn’t be sitting in this room in the first place.

But Gabrielle seemed to buy it, for she relaxed back into her seat, letting her knees splay and her hands fall loosely to her sides.

“Good,” she murmured. “I just thought - I guess I don’t know what I thought.”

Then she shrugged, rather sheepishly, and said quietly, almost to herself, “Guess Paul was right.”

“Who’s Paul?” Cathleen asked quickly. Too quickly - Gabrielle noticed, and her eyes glimmered with amusement.

“Just my boss,” Gabrielle answered. “Not...anything else, if you were wondering.”

“Oh - I wasn’t,” Cathleen added quickly, but it was clear Gabrielle didn’t entirely believe her, for she simply responded with an overly-generous nod. Honestly, Cathleen didn’t expect her too. Her quick response sounded entirely too defensive, even to her own ears.

“A-are you seeing anybody then?” she asked, desperate to jump to something else - and then realized almost immediately that she hadn’t jumped quite far enough. The question came out far too eager. “Not that it matters - just because you haven’t really talked about anyone, and -”

Her rambling wasn’t helping. The ghost of a smile that Gabrielle had worn before she’d asked the question had widened into an amused grin, and Cathleen could have sunk into the floor. She decided to stop talking.

“No, I’m not,” she answered with a flash of a smile, her voice almost teasing. “I actually haven’t dated anybody really, not since - well, you know. It’s hard. It’s - it’s a big step.”

The teasing note fell off towards the end, and her voice opened up with a vulnerability that Cathleen didn't expect. Sympathy sparked in her stomach, and she gave an understanding nod. “I bet. I mean, I can imagine, I guess.”

And she could, in a way, though it had never been something she’d really thought about. When she was young, dating and men had always seemed something so distant, so utterly unrelated to her life - even before she’d found the church. Men were the indistinguishable one night stands that her mother often brought home throughout her teenage years, the ones she always managed to catch glimpses of no matter how often she tried to avoid in the mornings. Those moments always filled her with a hot sense of shame, of secondhand embarrassment, though she knew that it didn’t bother her mother. 

Cathleen had never been able to understand that part of her, not really. Her mother had tried to explain to her, once, in an awkward attempt to bridge that ever-widening gap of understanding that had opened between them once Cathleen started attending Catholic school. She hadn’t really managed to get her point across, or maybe Cathleen just hadn’t gotten it. Her mother explained to her, in her own roundabout way, how she occasionally just longed for a physical sort of intimacy with someone; a sense of touch, of being held. She was obviously referring to her encounters with men, which Cathleen somehow found hard to swallow, but she tried to understand. She held the idea in her mind, trying to imagine being held or touched by a man, but simply couldn’t. It was too foreign, too bizarre. In some fundamental way, it didn’t click.

She’d never felt that hunger she was supposed to feel - for sex, for physical intimacy, for the love she was supposed to want from a man. She supposed that was because she’d found her calling. Been made for it even. To devote her love, her life, to God and the church. After all, what other explanation made sense?

But if she left the church, for some reason that she couldn’t possibly imagine, Cathleen supposed that she’d be expected to find a husband. After all, if she wasn’t meant to be a nun, wasn’t that the second-best way to fulfill her devotion to God? She’d have to marry, to have children, and to raise a family. That’s probably what Gabrielle was looking for, if she was still even in the church.

_That_ opened up another line of questioning, one that Cathleen hadn't even considered. Her eyes widened as the thought struck her. “Sis-Gabrielle, are you - do you mind if I ask you something? If it’s not too personal of a question.”

Gabrielle looked slightly confused, but nodded. “Of course.”

“Are you - are you still in the church? I don’t mean as a nun or a sister, obviously, but do you still - ?” 

She wasn’t sure how to end the question. Believe? Go to services? Pray? Luckily, Gabrielle seemed to understand, for she took the question with a slight dip of her chin, tilting her head to the side as she considered how to answer.

“I’m not - I don’t...go, that much anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.” she seemed to have a difficult time forcing the words out, and cast Cathleen a look, almost as if she were ashamed - or afraid of what Cathleen would think. “As for belief, I - well, I always struggled. Even as a sister. You knew that, though.”

Cathleen nodded, though she hadn’t. In fact, up to the moment that Gabrielle had left so suddenly, right before their final vows, Cathleen had assumed that she’d been the more conflicted of the two. That she had drawn Gabrielle unwillingly into her inner conflict of faith - sneaking into her room at night, taking her hand, asking to pray together - and made her question everything, before unwittingly forcing her out through her blatant confession in the last Chapter of Faults.

“What did you struggle with?” The question seemed immediately too private, too probing, and Cathleen could tell from the look on Gabrielle’s face that it probably was. She blanched at the question drawing back in the hardback chair as her hands tightened into fists.

“You don’t have to answer,” Cathleen added hastily, as she felt a tenseness creep into the room, filling the air. “Not if it’s too - too -”

“No, Cathleen,” Gabrielle cut her off gently, and Cathleen started almost invisibly at the use of her name. It was funny how little she heard her own regular name, devoid of the title ‘sister’ thrown around. The word seemed almost naked to her ears.

“It’s okay to ask me those questions, you know,” Gabrielle continued mildly, as if she could sense the mental self-berating that Cathleen wanted to inflict upon herself. “I don’t mind, really. It’s good of you to ask me, even, because they’re things that I should say. Things I’m trying to work out for myself.”

“Oh. Um - okay.” Cathleen wasn’t sure what exactly to make of that, but if Gabrielle was okay with it, then that made her feel better. Less like she was treading into uncharted, unapproved territory, and more like the simple conversation this was meant to be. “So then, I guess I’ve been wondering...why exactly did you leave? You said it wasn’t because of me, but you left so suddenly, that...I don’t know. I wondered, I guess.”

“Right.” Gabrielle bobbed her head up and down, almost nervously, and the movement made Cathleen wonder if she’d really meant what she’d said, about wanting to answer those questions. Then, she steeled herself, her expression shifting into determination, and swallowed. “So the thing is, I grew up in a Catholic family - a religious one. And I was always the odd one out, I suppose you could say. Just...different, from my brothers and sisters. Which I have a lot of, by the way.”

Cathleen nodded, her mind whirling almost desperately to take in the rush of sudden information. She didn't want to miss a single detail. She hadn’t even known about Gabrielle’s religious background, nor that she’d grown up with a lot of siblings. Sure she’d mentioned some things, during the Chapter of Faults, but most of that sort of bonding came during their time as postulates, and Gabrielle hadn’t been with them then. And then, as a novice, she’d always kept to herself.

“How many siblings do you have? You mentioned having them, I remember, but never any details.”

“I have seven,” Gabrielle answered, and then smiled at Cathleen’s wide-eyed expression. “I know, it’s a lot, even for a religious family. But we were very observant. I was too, but like I said, I’ve always been the black sheep. My faith never came...as easily to me, as it did the rest of my family. And I suppose that’s why I felt I had to prove myself. That I needed to dedicate my life to God.”

“Huh.” Cathleen settled back into her chair, turning the words over in her head. Gabrielle’s story of family pressure was no new thing to Cathleen - she had heard much the same from several of the other girls. However, most of the other cases had been girls pressured to enter the convent because of their families, not the other way around - not because they’d felt the need to prove themselves to their families. “Why were you the black sheep?”

“That -” it was clear immediately from the look on Gabrielle’s face that Cathleen was not going to get an answer to that. “A lot of reasons. I’ll tell you later, though. After I finish this.”

“Okay,” Cathleen said, hoping her voice sounded nonchalant, reassuring. She wouldn’t press her, she decided. “That’s fine. Go ahead.”

“Okay, so - where was I? Right, so I guess I had to prove myself. I thought that maybe, if I entered the church, I would learn how to be the most purely devoted that I could possibly be. And it worked, for a while, but...well, I wasn’t strong enough. So at the Sisters of Christ, when I realized it wasn’t working out for me, I thought...well I thought moving to a stricter order would be better. Make me better.”

Cathleen nodded, and then bit her lip and cast Gabrielle a rather apologetic look. “Yeah. I remember what you told me. That - well, that the strictness would help, but then I -”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, to name exactly what she’d done, because that would mean to make it real - and for now, it remained so only inside her head, a blemish on her record, significant and yet such an individual occasion that she felt that maybe, by ignoring it, she could bury the thing deep enough so as to not matter at all.

Gabrielle gave an almost dismissive shake of her head, and her eyes were understanding, as if she were giving Cathleen permission to skirt around the topic. Perhaps she too wanted to keep it buried deep, as if it hadn’t happened at all. To keep it so distant that it could have been someone else, two completely different people; a past entirely severed from their now.

“I told you, it wasn’t just you. You didn’t force me. I made that decision, and I -” she paused, and inhaled deeply, as if trying to gather the strength to unstick the next words in her throat. She exhaled, letting her shoulders fall, and continued. “I think, the reason I left was - I didn’t regret it. I didn’t.”

The last part was delivered almost defiantly, and less to Cathleen as to Gabrielle herself, with the air of an affirmation that had been oft-repeated. Cathleen stared at her, trying to process those words. 

They may not have been entirely meant for her, there was something deep inside of them that she couldn’t ignore.

The words rung familiar, uncomfortably so. Why were they so familiar? She shifted uncomfortably, parsing through memories, trying to recall - and then it struck her. At the last Chapter of Faults, where she’d confessed her sin and crawled on the floor, begging pathetically for penance before the other novices. None of them had granted it to her.

And then before she could stop herself she found herself casting back to the words she had thrown, almost defiantly, at the Reverend Mother just before.

_It didn’t feel like a sin - it felt like how I was supposed to feel._

She’d managed to forget that small line, over time, managed to push it to the back of her mind, because it didn’t matter, really. She’d been given her penance, hadn’t she? She’d seen the sign from God, understood her path, and so what did a fleeting moment matter? A slight wavering in her faith, delivered in a moment of personal defiance.

Except that she could remember, in that moment, just how unmistakably true that feeling had been. What she had done had felt so exactly right, like a lost puzzle piece falling into place, that no matter how well she’d managed to forget it - well, wasn’t there still a kernel of truth to her statement?

Wasn’t that, in so many words, exactly what Gabrielle was saying to her now?

“What do you mean - what we did - that you didn’t regret it?” the question came out rushed, the words jumbled, because there was a flicker of panic in her stomach, and Cathleen could feel a familiar dark uncertainty creeping up on her, filling her throat so that she couldn’t breathe. It was the same dreadful feeling that she’d felt in those last days before she’d taken her final vow, where her entire decision seemed to have been cloaked in a shroud of doubt.

Gabrielle regarded her carefully before answering. “What I mean is it made me realize that I wasn’t made to be here.” she gestured at the dark, wood paneled walls around them. “That no matter how I tried, it was clear that I couldn’t devote the entirety of myself to God. That there was a part of me that would always reject him - that would always be rejected by him. So I left.”

Cathleen didn’t quite hear the last sentence of Gabrielle’s explanation, because the words - words, painful words, that were striking far too close to home - were stretching away from her, growing distant as the ringing in her ears grew louder. The flicker of panic in her stomach had ballooned to a near hysteria, and she could feel the room growing smaller around her.

“That’s - an interesting perspective,” she choked out, and then looked down, suddenly finding herself incapable of holding Gabrielle’s gaze, for it was too soft, too concerned, too _understanding_ , and just as she thought that she couldn’t take it anymore, the bell rang out, signaling the end of visiting hours.

They both jumped, and then Cathleen lurched to her feet, almost immediately. She stumbled, just for a fraction of a second, the trepidation in her stomach sending her head into a dizzying spin. Gabrielle stood up as well, and reached out when she saw Cathleen stumble, only to jerk her hand back when Cathleen drew swiftly out of reach.

“I should head back - I left someone else in charge of my chores,” she explained hurriedly, and groped blindly for the door handle behind her. “Thank you for coming Gabrielle, it was interesting to talk about - about that.”

“Are you sure?” Gabrielle asked, and she shifted awkwardly, looking as if she were wavering between stepping towards her and backing away. “Cathleen, I didn’t mean to trouble you, but - you don’t seem okay. If something I said bothered you -”

“It's not, I’m fine,” Cathleen reassured her, and attempted a rather cracked smile, before jerking her gaze away again. “I just have a lot to think about, you know, but it was very interesting, and I -”

Her hand found the doorknob - _finally_ \- and she wrenched it open, stepping out backwards into the hallway. Gabrielle watched her go, worried uncertainty radiating off of her.

“Wait -” she called out at last, and Cathleen paused from where she’d been about to turn out into the hallway. “Can I - is it okay if I come visit again? Next month?”

Her voice was a mixture of hope and desperation, and Cathleen hated it, hated how it made her feel, how she so badly wanted to say _yes, of course, please come_ , but she only managed to stammer, “You can - I don’t know if I’ll be, but - you can come, if you want.”

The words came out confused, scrambled, but she must have gotten the message across because she caught Gabrielle’s relieved nod just before she forced herself to step out into the hallway, closing the door behind her with just a tad too much force. She paused for a moment, back against the door, and let out an enormous sigh, trying to expel the dread that had been swirling in her stomach, and was currently trying to wind its way up into her throat.

It didn’t work, and so she pushed off of the door and strode down the hallway, her head down and her eyes glued to the floor, hands clasped so tightly together that she could feel her nails digging into her flesh, and as she walked, she began to pray.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been a while, which is entirely my fault. I've had this chapter *almost* completely edited for a while now, but I got caught on some sticky sections, along with a whole bunch of real life stuff. Anyway, I just wanted to say that even though I haven't been very active on AO3 and have been insanely busy in RL to reply to your wonderful comments, I have read each and every one, and I truly appreciate them! Thank you for your lovely support :) This is a fairly light chapter, sort of the calm before the storm. The next chapter will be...heavy.

“You seem down.”

Gabrielle raised her head blearily from where she’d been resting it against the bar, her arms splayed out loosely across the wood surface. Amy was giving her a cynical stare as her hands moved robotically, wiping down a glass with a methodical _swish-swish_ , the rag moving round and round in a dizzying motion.

“I’m not -” she hiccuped, stumbling on the words, “Not _down_. I’m dr-drunk.”

She went to lay her head back down on the cool smooth wood surface of the bar, but Amy’s hand caught her, cupping her forehead gently, and forced her head back up to meet her gaze.

“Oh no you don’t,” she chided, and moved her hand down to press against Gabrielle’s shoulder, pushing until, with a groan, Gabrielle dragged herself up into something of a straightened sitting position, balancing ungracefully on the barstool. “Good. I’m not dragging your dead ass outta here, ya got that? And I know you’re drunk, because I saw how much you drank. And I really shoulda cut you off, only I didn’t think you’d actually go this far.”

Gabrielle just groaned and thunked her elbow against the table, which she used to clumsily cradle her forehead in her hand. “I didn’t know I could drink that much.”

“Me neither.” Amy finished with the glass and placed it upside down on the shelf behind her, before turning back and leaning over the bar, reaching one hand out to shake Gabrielle’s shoulder gently as she began to sag again. “Hey, hey - don’t fall asleep on me! I wanna know what pushed you to get so blitzed. Some girl turn you down?”

“Mmmm,” Gabrielle mumbled, and rubbed at her eyes with the hand that was propping her up. It seemed to be the only support that was keeping her from collapsing into a puddle on the bar, and Amy eyed it worriedly. “Is that a yes, then?”

“It’s that girl at the convent, isn’t it?” Paul’s booming voice joined them, and a moment later the man himself appeared from the pool room, a mop tucked under his arm. He paused to raise the last few chairs, stacking them on top of the tables, before sliding into the barstool next to Gabrielle. “What happened - she reject you or something? If she did, you’re worth more, kid.”

Gabrielle gave him a fuzzy smile, which he returned broadly. Amy cast a stunned glance between the two, eyes widening in shock, before her gaze swung back to Gabrielle.

_“What?”_ she screeched, ignoring the way Gabrielle flinched, and then frowned at the sudden noise. “You’re trying to get with a _nun?_ Babe, that’s bad news! Christ, I told you to get laid, and this is how you take my advice?”

She shook her head in disgust, and reached into her pocket, withdrawing a box of cigarettes and a lighter. A moment of disgruntled silence passed as she stuck the cigarette between her lips and flicked the lighter, letting the flame lick the end of the cigarette, before flicking it off again and stuffing it back into her pocket. Gabrielle watched the process idly, mesmerized by the dancing flame. Amy returned her stare as she took a long drag from the cigarette, pulling it in and then expelling the smoke in a long, slow stream. At last, she let out a long sigh.

“A _nun_ ," she repeated, and took the cigarette from her lips to balance it between two fingers. “Jesus Christ, Gabs, I thought you wanted to get laid? Or are you just into all that self-masochistic stuff, repression and everything? I mean, you really think chasing a nun is gonna help you out there?”

Paul, who had simply been listening in amusement to the whole exchange, let out a low chuckle, a rumbling noise which radiated slowly up through his chest. Unable to stifle the noise, he began to shake silently from laughter, his cheeks turning ruddy pink. Gabrielle just looked at Amy, who was staring at her expectantly, apparently awaiting some kind of answer, and then gave an uncharacteristic giggle.

“You’re not supposed to take his name in vain,” she said, and wagged an unsteady finger. “That’s a - a _sin_.”

Amy just stared at her, one eyebrow raised as she took in the scene, until at last she rolled her eyes skyward and let out a dramatic sigh.

“So you just really dig the idea of missionary work*, huh?” she asked with a weary sort of humor. Gabrielle frowned, not quite making the connection, and Paul, who had been quaking silently with laughter, brought his fist to his mouth as he bent over the bar in an unsuccessful attempt to stem his snickering.

“You know -” he gasped, after he had regained some control, “- you know that Gabrielle was a nun, right?”

For the second time that night, Amy’s mouth fell open in shock. She turned back to face Gabrielle, who was frowning at Paul, unsure if she were annoyed at his casual dropping of the information about her past.

“You were a nun?”

Gabrielle shook her head in a wide, exaggerated movement. “Not a nun,” she slurred. “I never took my final vows.”

“Oh. Okay.” Amy bobbed her head up and down, the movement as mocking as her tone. “Right. So you just walked around at a convent with a habit or whatever, praying to God all day, for - how long?”

“Two years, almost,” Gabrielle supplied the information as if it were the most matter of fact thing in the world.

“- for two years, praying and all that, but you didn’t take your final vows, so you weren’t technically a nun. Thanks for clearing that up.” the sarcasm was clear in her voice, but Gabrielle just nodded along. She already wasn’t quite sure what the main thread of conversation was.

“Yeah, that’s - pretty much it. Did I not tell you? I thought I - told you.” Her elbow was growing tired, and the polished wood surface of the bar seemed quite inviting, and it was starting to seem like an excellent idea to let her head rest back against that surface. She began to slide her arm out from under her chin, bringing her head down with it, only to be stopped by Paul’s rough palm on her shoulder.

“No you don’t girlie,” he said, and leaned over to throw his arm entirely around her shoulders, forcing her back up into a sitting position. “I’m not having you fall asleep at the bar.”

“Yeah, not till you tell us everything,” Amy cut in, only to be stopped by a warning glance aimed at her by Paul. “I mean, once you’re sober. Because, you know what? You don’t tell us anything about your past, except for the last year or two. I mean, how is it we’ve been working together half a year and I didn’t know you were a nun?”

“Mmmm,” Gabrielle murmured, for lack of anything more prosaic to say. “Didn’t really want to talk about it. Till now. Alcohol helps.”

“Yeah, ya don’t say.” Amy rolled her eyes, and then shot Paul a keen look. He nodded in response, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Paul grunted and rose to his feet, and then gently clapped an enormous hand over Gabrielle’s shoulder.

“Time for you to go home,” he said, and waited until he saw her nod, her eyes closed, before reaching carefully under her arms to hoist her to her feet. She made it and stayed upright, albeit with a fair amount of swaying, and Paul nodded towards Amy before gesturing for her to come around the bar.

“You can get her home all right?” he asked once Amy had grabbed her and Gabrielle’s coats, wrapping herself up in her own and throwing the other over Gabrielle’s shoulders. 

“Nah, but I’ll take her to my place,” she told him, and stepped forward to sling her arm around Gabrielle’s shoulders, who in return leaned willingly into the support. “It’s closer anyways, and I have clothes and a couch and stuff I can lend her.”

“Good.” Paul nodded and stepped back, letting Amy take over the job of keeping Gabrielle upright. Gabrielle followed willingly as she guided them towards the entrance, and Paul watched them go, anxiety dancing in his deep brown eyes, indecisive, before at last he called out to their retreating backs.

“Aimes?” he called out, and Amy twisted around, inasmuch as she could with Gabrielle leaning on her shoulder. “Hmm?”

“Don’t...push her too much, okay?” he asked, and couldn’t help the flicker of concern that ran through him. “It’s just...I get the feeling she’s had a lot to deal with from being a nun and everything. So just let her tell it, okay? And if she doesn’t want to - don’t force her.”

Amy nodded, and then waved her free hand over her hand as a sign of receival. “Got it, boss. And don’t worry, I’m not abouta spring the Spanish Inquisition on her or anything. Gotta get her through that hangover first.”

Paul chuckled, a thread of relief running through the sound, and let himself lean easily against the bar. “Right. Good. Then get home safe, okay?”

“Of course,” Amy called out over her shoulder, and as she maneuvered Gabrielle out the door, he heard the ‘goodbye’ cast by Gabrielle float back towards him. It was joined by Amy’s ‘good night!’ and then the heavy wooden door swung shut behind them, and Paul was left alone in the empty bar.

He stood there for a few moments, just lingering quietly in the space - his space, that he had built - before moving towards the direction of the stairwell, tucked discreetly after the bar. He paused on his way to move a few things, organizing a couple glasses here, straightening a placement here, until at last he reached the bottom of the stairwell. He stopped, again, and cast one last look around the bar, illuminated softly under the dim bar lights in a rare moment of absolute quiet.

He wondered, briefly, if he had made the right choice in letting Amy take Gabrielle back to her place. Amy was a good person, he knew, but she could be pushy. Gabrielle was so quiet, so closed off…he wasn't sure if a push was exactly what she needed.

Then again, if Gabrielle had gotten drunk enough to start talking, maybe she'd been unconsciously looking for that push all along.

His hand lingered near the light switch, and he hesitated before letting out a sigh, followed by a slight shrug. Didn't matter now. And anyways, maybe it would be better for the girl. God knows she could use a friend. 

With that thought, Paul reached up and decisively flicked off the lights.

______

The minute she woke up, Gabrielle wanted to go back to sleep.

She gave it several minutes of honest effort before realizing it was impossible. Unfortunately, the heavy, awful pounding in her head which dragged her out of unconsciousness seemed to be the same thing that was preventing her from returning to it. In fact, it almost felt as if the pain had been waiting just for the moment she woke in order to hit her in full force.

Still, Gabrielle lay unmoving for a few moments longer, some part of her hoping to slip back into sleep, but it was no good. With every passing moment, the thudding ache in her head seemed to grow stronger, and it was quickly joined by an extremely bright light which seemed to be shining directly into her eyes. She cracked one blearily open, to confirm that yes, there was a bright ray of sunlight streaming inconveniently through the window, and she was in the way of it. She squeezed her eyes shut again, and groaned, bringing her arm up so as to drape it heavily across her eyelids.

And then, somewhere in the back of her mind it registered that the offending window was not, in fact, hers.

She wasn’t in her apartment.

The thought sent a stab of panic through Gabrielle, and she shifted, moving her arm off her face and wincing at the subsequent stab of light, before forcing herself to open her eyes and prop herself up on her elbows. Once she did, a single sweep of the room was enough to confirm that she wasn’t at her own apartment, and, furthermore, she didn’t know just whose apartment she happened to be in. The surroundings were completely unfamiliar; cramped and small, sure, just like her own, but nothing like Paul’s quarters above the bar; the couch she was sprawled upon, for example, was a loud blue and yellow floral print, the kind he wouldn’t have been caught dead owning. Neither would Gabrielle, for that matter.

“Oh no,” she muttered to herself, and made a go at sitting up, as if the movement would quell the anxiety fluttering in her stomach. It did nothing except send a wave of dizzying nausea through her, and that was when she remembered just how much she had drunk the night before - and why. “This is...this is not good.”

“I’ll say.” a familiar voice rang out behind her, and Gabrielle practically sagged with relief. She twisted around instead, and saw Amy leaning in a doorway that appeared to lead to the kitchen - if the spatula hanging loosely in her hand and the smells emanating from behind her were any indication. “Sis, you got all kinds of messed up last night. I’m surprised you’re still breathing.”

Gabrielle sighed, a noisy exhale of relief, and then hissed in pain and brought a hand up to her forehead. “Me too,” she said wearily.

Amy chuckled and moved into the room, plopping herself down onto a round plush footstool that sat adjacent to the couch. The spatula she balanced lightly across her knees, almost but not quite touching, and Gabrielle stared at it. Bits of egg clung to the edge, and it was enough to make her stomach turn.

“So,” Amy said, and let the word hang in the air. She waggled her eyebrows expectantly, and Gabrielle couldn’t help but crack a smile at the expression, no matter how the movement, tiny as it was, seemed to hurt.

“So?” she asked.

“So -” Amy said, and jabbed her spatula in the direction of Gabrielle’s chest. “You. Got totally blitzed last night, the first time at least I ever saw, and all because of some girl at a nunnery? Oh, and you used to be a nun? How did I not know this extremely pertinent information?”

Gabrielle frowned. “Did I really spill all that last night?”

Amy gave her a dry look. “In so many words. And don’t look so devastated! You know, it’s good to let your walls down a bit Gabs. Specially around us. Besides, I coulda used that info about your girl, before I started setting you up with some college chick or something. Didn’t know you were into nuns.”

Gabrielle just winced at the stream of words, all delivered far too quickly for her to process. She raised a hand to rub at her eyes and swallowed thickly before opening her mouth to speak. Her tongue felt strangely swollen and fuzzy, as if her mouth were full of cotton balls.

“I’m not into nuns,” she corrected Amy, who shrugged as if to disregard the small difference. “I used to be one. Kind of. And there’s this girl I knew...well, I know, at the Sisters of the Beloved Rose -”

“Oooh,” Amy interrupted, eyes wide. “Let me guess: a girlish friendship turned into something more? Nighttime meet-ups, escapades behind the, um, pews, or whatever you have at church?”

Gabrielle shook her head, smiling in amusement. “You really never been to church, have you?”

Amy just shrugged again, uncaring. “Hey, I’m Jewish. Synagogue and all that. Hanukkah and Passover and no bread for a week - you know the deal.”

“Oh. Huh.” Gabrielle sat back, processing the information. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well,” Amy waved her hand dismissively over her shoulder, as if to indicate those times were past. “You’d think it’d have made a difference with my parents when they found out, but they kicked me out anyway, so.”

Gabrielle regarded her, a sudden swell of sympathy filling her chest. “I’m sorry. I…didn’t know.”

Amy just shrugged dismissively, her shoulders moving up and down in the barest indication of acknowledgment at the words. She fell silent, and Gabrielle, for the first time, took the opportunity to really study her. Amy had always struck her with her overlarge confidence, the way her attitude seemed to make up for whatever size she lacked. Only now, as she sat perched on the plush footstool, her expression pensive, did she seem entirely too small, practically swallowed by the oversized blue shirt she had apparently worn as sleepwear. Her make-up, left from the night before, was smudged around her eyes, and her curls hung in a messy disarray around her face, as if she’d just woken up - which she probably had. In that moment, all of her brash overconfidence - which, if Gabrielle was being honest, had always impressed and slightly intimidated her - was gone, leaving her looking surprisingly vulnerable. Or at least, more so than Gabrielle had ever seen.

“So you were a nun, huh?” The question interrupted Gabrielle from her thoughts, and she looked up to meet Amy’s gaze, whose brown eyes were shimmering with curiosity. 

“Yeah - yes. Sort of. Well, almost.” The stammered explanation did nothing except bring a look of confusion to Amy’s face, so Gabrielle took in a deep breath, rallying her scattered thoughts, and tried again. “There’s a two year process to becoming a nun. You have to become a postulant first, and then a novice, before you take your final vows. I left right before the end.”

“Why’d you leave?” Amy asked, and then backtracked. “Wait, let me guess. It’s because of that girl, right? The one that got you messed up enough to drink half the bar and then pass out on it last night.”

Gabrielle instantly turned pink at Amy’s matter-of-fact recounting. “Did I really do that?” she asked sheepishly.

Amy suddenly let out a loud laugh. The sound filled the room, tugging the atmosphere of the conversation - which had been approaching somber - back to a lighter tone. “Yeah, sort of. Don’t worry, though. You didn’t do anything crazy. You just sat at the bar and mumbled about this girl who’s apparently got you all twisted into knots, and then tried to fall asleep on me and Paul, but I got you home first.”

“Oh.” Some of Gabrielle’s embarrassment faded into relief at Amy’s summary. Not all of it, however. Not by a long shot. “That’s...embarrassing. But not as bad as I thought.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe next time we’ll get you dancing on the bar.” Amy smiled crookedly, an expression which deepened as Gabrielle flushed in mortification. “Next time, right? And wait, no changing the subject! I want to hear about this girl and all your history at the - what do you call it?”

“Sisters of the Beloved Rose,” Gabrielle supplied. Amy nodded.

“Right, I was meaning something like whether you say convent, or monastery, but nifty. So -” she cut off as a whiff of burning food drifted in from the kitchen. “Oh, damn it! The eggs!”

She leapt to her feet and rushed into the kitchen in a dizzying whirl of motion. Gabrielle watched her go, listening to her curses as they faded into the other room. As soon as she was alone again, the pounding in her head returned in full force, demanding her attention. The fuzziness in her mouth grew unbearable. The thought of drinking something crossed her mind, and as it did, Gabrielle realized suddenly just how thirsty she was.

“I’ve got water in the kitchen if you want something!” Amy’s voice floated through the doorway with impeccable timing. “Coffee too - I bet you’ve got a killer hangover!”

Gabrielle nodded, though Amy couldn’t see her. Not that it mattered though, for she continued to chatter over the sounds of sizzling grease and the clattering of dishes. “I’m almost done - come on in and get some food in you, you’ll feel better, I promise. And then you’re gonna tell me everything, Gabs - everything.”

The last words were delivered somewhere between a threat and a promise, and Gabrielle couldn’t help but smile at them. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the strangeness of the morning wash over her - though it wasn’t a bad morning exactly, just strange - and then opened them again. The light was still shining far too brightly through the window, and her head was still pounding, but Amy, who was apparently her friend, was waiting for her in the kitchen, and Gabrielle couldn’t remember the last time that had happened to her. If it ever had. She shook her head one last time, in a vain attempt to clear it, and pulled herself to her feet and on to the direction of the kitchen.

***

“So she kissed you and then…became a nun?”

Gabrielle nodded. It seemed a bit short of a summary for the story she had explained over the past half hour, as they’d hunched over a table just barely big enough for two people; Amy with a plate of half-eaten eggs in front of her, while Gabrielle clutched a mug of black coffee. Amy had offered her eggs, insisted even, but her stomach rebelled against the idea and so they sat before her untouched, growing cold as she explained wearily about her time in the church, and what had led her to leave it.

“I guess so.” Gabrielle raised her mug to her lips, only to wrinkle her nose as she realized it had gone cold. It had been cold already, in the last two sips she had tried to take, but she’d been too deep into the story to notice.

“Damn…” Amy sat back and shook her head. “That’s a tough one, ain’t it? I mean, talk about mixed signals.”

Gabrielle’s lips quirked into a smile. “That’s a good way of putting it. And whenever I go to visit her, it seems like she goes out of her way to see me, but then always ends up rushing out. I’m never sure if she actually wants me there.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to see you, does she?” Amy asked and leaned forward, templing her hands under her chin. “I mean, no one’s forcing her to talk to you, so there’s gotta be something there.”

Gabrielle shrugged, unconvinced. “Maybe. I think she’s trying to figure some things out, and sometimes, I feel like I’m helping her. But then other times…”

“You feel like you’re just making it harder,” Amy finished, eyebrows raised, and Gabrielle nodded. “Well, we’ve all been there, ya know. Helping some poor girl outta the closet. Or at least I have.”

Gabrielle shook her head, and opened her mouth to protest. “I don’t know if she’s -”

“Mmhm.” Amy shushed her with a disbelieving look, and held it for a moment before continuing. “You don’t think she’s…wearing comfortable shoes*?”

The euphemism was enough to get Gabrielle to let out a soft chuckle, and Amy brightened into a mischievous grin. “Nice to know you’re finally catching on. Anyway, you remember that she kissed you, right? So I’m not sure what you’re exactly worried about here.”

Gabrielle gave her an exasperated look, and then rolled her eyes, tossing her hands in the air for good measure. “That’s not it - I mean, that’s not the main issue. It’s not important, anyway.” 

Amy gave her an incredulous look at those last words, which Gabrielle ignored, plunging ahead. “I - she’s very committed to the church. To being a nun. And I don’t want to take that decision away from her, you know? And if my presence is confusing her…well, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Or maybe that’s exactly what you should be doing,” Amy said softly, and when Gabrielle just gave her a confused look she rolled her eyes and pushed her hands off from the table, leaning back in her seat. “You know what I mean. I bet Paul’s given you the exact same talk, too.”

She cast a stern look at Gabrielle, as if waiting for her to disagree. She didn’t and so she continued. “Listen Gabs, you can’t put it on yourself to decide her life for her. From the sound of it, this girl’s never rejected your visits even though you’ve asked, and so I’d wager she wants you around. At this point, all you can do is be there for her. You dig?”

Gabrielle looked at her for a moment, considering the words - it was the same thing Paul had said, really, and if two people were telling her the same thing that had to mean something, right? At last, she nodded, and Amy let out an overly dramatic sigh of relief at the gesture.

“And so, she sees some sense!” She stood up abruptly from the table, and swiped a carton of cigarettes from next to the stove. Pulling one out, she stuck it between her lips before offering the carton to Gabrielle, who shook her head. “All right, now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’m gonna tell you once and for all: you should stay away from that girl.”

Gabrielle stared at her, thrown. She wondered vaguely just which part of the conversation they had veered off of without noticing. “Didn’t you just tell me I shouldn’t stop seeing her?”

Amy waved a hand that was clutching a lighter dismissively in the air, before bringing it to the end of her cigarette. She lit it and tossed the lighter onto the counter before continuing. “Nah, I told you that you don’t get to make her life decisions. I was talking about what’s good for her. Now I’m talking about what’s good for you, and mark my words, getting involved with a nun is bad business. Even if she does seem to be straight as spaghetti and can’t seem to keep her hands off of you.”

Gabrielle didn’t respond at first, but just shook her head in amazed disbelief. “I don’t think that’s a very accurate summary of the situation.” 

Amy shrugged. “Accurate, shmaccurate. It don’t matter though, because judging from the look on your face, I can tell you’re not gonna listen to me. So I’m just gonna say one thing: good fucking luck.”

Gabrielle ignored the curse, and brought the mug of coffee to her lips for lack of a response, only to remember yet again that it was long-turned cold. She lowered it, and looked back at Amy, who was watching her with a searching expression. Gabrielle held the scrutinizing look for a beat, and then sighed, her shoulders sagging. “You’re probably right.”

Amy just snorted at this, and took a long drag on her cigarette. “I sure as hell am.”

“But I think I’m still going to visit her.”

“I didn’t expect anything less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missionary work: old slang for trying to 'turn' a girl who is supposedly straight.
> 
> Wearing comfortable shoes: a euphemistic way of asking/saying if a girl was into girls.
> 
> Isn't old gay slang fun?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, it's been a while, and i'm going to apologize for that, and for the long chapter note i'm about to write. before you read the chapter though, Im asking that you PLEASE read this note, as it's very important for triggers and such.
> 
> a) i am very very very sorry about the delay. it's a really obnoxious delay, because for one it's so long and for the other, i have a lot of the story after this and another couple chapters written out! however, when i went back over to edit, i realized that this section was very disconnected and badly written, and had to be redone. so i attempted to rewrite it.
> 
> and what happened is i rewrote it again, and again, and again, for something like 10 times. seriously, i promise you guys, i have been working on it! i just haven't found what i think to be the 'voice' of the story til now. it's taken me a lot of attempts to get to this point, and though I'm not entirely sure about it, i think this is the truest way/strongest way the story could go.
> 
> b) THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIVID DESCRIPTION OF SELF HARM. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU RISK BEING TRIGGERED IN ANY WAY (seriously, i had a lot of trouble with urges etc just writing this chapter. im not saying this lightly. if you want to know what happens, or get onto the gay romance( i do too), then scroll to the end and i will have a short summary. but please don't put your mental health at risk just to read fanfiction).
> 
> c) in full disclosure, because of the above, i debated between posting this at all, once i'd finally written it. self-harm is something i struggle with, and in writing this i accidentally ended up writing what i regard as something very near to my own real life experiences with self-harm urges/mental illness. so it is very personal to me, and also not something i want to promote. which is why im upping the rating on this story to E (unfortunately not for the good reasons, im sorry its slowburn tho), and i'm putting this warning here. The reason i decided in the end to post it anyway is because i believe that seeing ourselves in media (fanfiction, movies, whatever), can really help us. so i don't want to hold that back.

As soon as she left Gabrielle, the only thing Cathleen could think of to do was to head straight for her room.

She had a half-formed plan, more of an urge, and a small part of her wondered painfully if Gabrielle would approve of what she was about to do. Somehow, she had the feeling she wouldn’t. Still, she pushed that thought away; it wouldn't do to brood on Gabrielle’s reaction when thoughts of her were exactly what Cathleen was trying to escape.

As soon as she reached her room she twisted the knob and pushed the door open roughly, letting it swing for only a moment before she caught the handle and sagged against the other side, letting the weight of her entire body push the door shut. Once it closed, the wave of panic which had been building subsided slightly. She took in a deep breath, and then expelled it in one heavy sigh, letting her shoulders drop. She didn’t move from where she stood, blocking the door from the inside. She had the most irrational feeling that if she moved away from the door, somebody might open it and catch her in her moment of inexplicable hysteria. So instead she used her body as a barricade, and tried to get her wildly thumping heart under control.

It was the questions that started it, those silly, inconsequential uncertainties that Gabrielle somehow managed to stoke in Cathleen’s head, sending her into a tailspin of panicky confusion over doubts she’d thought she’d settled long ago. It was happening again, that thing Cathleen had sworn she wouldn’t let happen. Those feelings, the uneasy feeling that she’d made the wrong choice—they were all supposed to be gone. They _had_ been gone. 

Because Cathleen wasn’t a novice anymore. She was a nun, fully-avowed for the past two years, and content in her calling. She wasn’t supposed to be having _doubts_.

And that was why the first thing that rose to her head, once Cathleen had ducked out of that suddenly-suffocating visiting room, was repentance. It was her first instinct, born from those eighteen months of fasting and self-punishment and the weekly Chapter of Faults, and even if most of those things weren’t supposed to happen anymore, weren’t supposed to be used to demonstrate their love for Him, Cathleen couldn’t help but feel that, deep down, anything less was cheating.

And yet even so, she kept leaning against the door, hesitation freezing her into inaction. A small, naysaying voice at the back of her head wondered if she wasn't being too hasty, jumping straight into self-punishment. Shouldn't she try reflection, prayer, or other, smaller forms of penance first? She hadn't actually even thought about it much at all, but only jumped from her seat and left Gabrielle standing there, undoubtedly hurt and confused.

But in the moment, she hadn’t been able to help it. Her mind was turning to fast, spinning with questions, and doubts, and then the sudden, overwhelming urge to get away from it all. To be clean. This was the best way she knew how. 

Still, Cathleen hesitated. Her gaze fell to her dresser, to the thin space between the floor and its bottom drawer. Her fingers drummed against her thigh. She could pray first. Fast, even. Do something else, some kind of self-reflection first.

But if she didn't act now, she might lose her nerve. And besides, when had self-reflection, and all those other stupid, ineffective forms of penance ever gotten her anywhere?

Cathleen drew in a sharp breath and pushed off the door, crossing the room to kneel in front of her dresser. With desperate hands she reached under the dresser, scrabbling for the razor she had left oh-so-many months ago. Her fingers met dust, a piece of paper, and then something long and thin—a pen. She pulled it out, frowned, and tossed it to the side, then kept searching. As moments passed without success, doubts rose in her mind. Had it gone missing? Had she thrown it out, and simply forgotten, laughably confident that she wouldn't need such a thing anymore? She began to reach farther, half-frantic, until her fingers scraped the wall—and then, just as she'd give up hope, they brushed cold metal.

She pulled the razor out triumphantly, and cradled it in her hands. It seemed no worse for wear, its sharp edge glinting dully in the late afternoon light streaming through her window. Just to see the tool in her hands, to verify that it was real, _that she had a method_ , sent a wave of calm crashing over her. Gingerly, with her other hand, Cathleen reached out to touch the edge.

“Sister Cathleen, we need to—hey, are you okay?”

Instinctively she clenched her hand shut—but not too tight, wary of drawing blood—and spun around awkwardly, still kneeling on the floor. Sister Emily stared at her, expression caught between amusement and concern.

“Yeah, I’m—fine.” She forced the words out as normally as she could. Sister Emily surveyed her for a moment, looking as if she wanted to ask, and then gave an uncertain smile.

“You know, usually you're supposed to pray at the bed.”

“Oh—right.” Despite the pounding of her heart, Cathleen forced a smile. “Yeah, I, um, dropped my pen.”

She grabbed the pen on the floor and held it up, hoping it was too far away for Sister Emily to notice the dust coating it. “It rolled under the dresser, so I went to go get it, and now…I’m all dusty.”

Her voice trailed off and she frowned as she noticed the state of her clothes, particularly her sleeves. “Um, we’re supposed to go mop the halls, right?”

“Yeah, but don't worry about it.” Sister Emily laughed, and gestured toward Cathleen’s sleeves. “I mean, come, but get cleaned up first. I'll tell the sister in charge you just had to switch clothes.”

“Thank you,” Cathleen told her gratefully, and Sister Emily gave her one last, slightly curious look, before turning around and stepping out into the hallway. Cathleen waited until the door clicked shut behind her, and then a few seconds longer, before uncurling her fingers to see the razor held loosely in her hand. A small droplet of blood oozed from where it had cut into her skin. She winced at her lack of caution, but a small part of her rejoiced at the pain. 

_All those months, and it was still sharp_. She only had to wait until nightfall, once her duties ended.

But first, she remembered as she glanced down at the dust—it really was caked all over her sleeves, and she grimaced—she would have to change her clothes.

—————

Cathleen had never appreciated how slow a day could pass, even if all that remained of it were the last few evening hours. When she finally arrived to her room, just after nine in the evening, she didn’t waste time but shucked her habit immediately, and tossed the pieces across the bed. She pulled on her nightdress in record time, and had just turned to the dresser, where the razor was balled into a sock in the top drawer, when footsteps sounded outside her room.

She froze—but they passed just as quickly, fading off into the distance. However, that was when Cathleen remembered that, despite the small privacy afforded to the sisters in their rooms, she wasn’t actually alone. And moreover, there were no locks on the doors.

So she forced herself to wait. She cleaned up the mess she had made with her habit, folding and stowing the garments with methodical care, and then perched on her bed, waiting for the minutes to pass. 

They did, but far too slowly, and it only took a half hour before she was at her wit’s end. That same, thumping energy—bordering on panic—which had driven her out of the the visiting room and away from Gabrielle was rising up in her chest again, and every moment of inaction made it harder to breathe.

Once forty minutes had passed, and no more footsteps sounded in the halls, Cathleen gave up on her wait. She leapt up from the bed and crossed to her dresser, rummaging around with a frantic energy that belied the calm she’d attempted moments before. The sock was tucked at the back and she pulled it out, untucking the fold with shaky fingers, until she could at last shake the razor into her palm. It seemed brighter somehow, under the light of her lamp rather than the sunlight that had lit up her room in the afternoon.

But as with the afternoon, the sight was enough to calm her slightly, to stem the panic threatening to engulf her. She breathed, and found it came easily. It was still there of course, waiting at the edges, but now she had control. She could lasso the fear, make it her own.

She could finally put things right. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and hoped God could hear her. Was it her imagination, or had He seemed distant lately? His presence seemed far off, not as comforting as she had once found it. As if her distraction with Gabrielle had driven Him away.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated more to herself than Him now, and moved back to the bed, sitting down with a thump. “I’m going to…I’m going to be better. Just watch.”

She let the razor balance precariously on one knee as she drew up her sleeves, far enough that the white cloth bunched around her upper arm. As she did so, for the first time in a while Cathleen caught sight of the three pink lines from months before, now almost entirely faded into her skin. She stared at them for a moment, turning her arm so that they would catch the light, and wondered why it was she’d never given much thought to them over the past few months. Nuns weren’t encouraged to take notice of their bodies in general—why would they? They were meant for God, not to be examined—but she had thought she would take some pleasure in the permanent marking of her skin for God’s love.

Except apparently it wasn’t so permanent, and maybe that was why. Cathleen nearly had to squint to make them out under the dim lamplight, and she frowned in contempt. If that was all she’d accomplished, it was no wonder she felt so distant from Him. She glanced at the razor on her knee, and swallowed, dryly.

This time, she could right that.

When she brought the razor to her skin, there was a second of hesitation, just as the cold edge touched flesh—but only a second, for then she scowled and quickly, before she could lose her nerve, drew the blade across her arm.

But her moment of faltering made her weak, and the result was no more than a thin line, which as she watched, reddened and then oozed a minuscule drop of blood. Even worse than her first attempts. 

Cathleen’s frown deepened, and on her next attempt she moved slowly, dragging the razor in an attempt to feel the sting that was barely present with her first mark.

This one hurt more—a long, sharp pain, the kind that made her wince—but as she pulled the razor away, there was a moment of indescribable glee, a certain euphoric triumph that glowed like an ember in her stomach.

But the second line was only slightly deeper, slightly longer than the first, and her face fell at the sight of it.

_Still not enough_. The word ‘weak’ danced behind her eyelids. She pushed it thought away.

On the third line she _pushed_ down, letting the razor bite into her skin like she hadn’t managed on her first two—and to her surprise, it sliced through like butter. For some reason, the sight of her success sent her heart thumping with exhilaration, so she continued, dragging the razor deep with enough force to send strange ripples of pain through her body—but not entirely pain, because there was something fiercely wonderful about it as well.

_This_ had to be what the Reverend Mother had talked about when she spoke of receiving real penance. _This_ had to be the feeling of God forgiving her, this wild sense of adrenaline and victory which coursed through her veins, making her feel as if, for the first time since she had arrived at the convent, she had actually _earned_ God’s love.

This was the sacrifice she had always talked about—and it was so simple, so straightforward, she could have laughed. God had clearly been waiting for her to find the correct path the whole time. Now it was clear before her.

She looked down in mind to do another one, only to find that her cuts had begun to bleed. The first two were only oozing, a few unworrying drops, but the third—which had actually _split the skin_ , showing a strange purplish-white underneath—was slowly beginning to fill with blood until, as she watched, it began to dribble over.

Cathleen lurched to her feet, and cupped the hand holding the razor under her bleeding arm as she moved blindly toward her dresser. There was a handkerchief there, she was sure of it, but it took her a few good seconds to maneuver the top drawer open, and search it out, praying every moment that no blood would reach her nightgown, or the contents of her drawer.

Her arm was a mess by the time she found the handkerchief and slapped it roughly over the cuts, watching as blood instantly began to soak through. She folded it over again, using the edges to clean the trails of blood already drying down her arm, and realized with a slightly rueful sigh that her handkerchief was not going to survive the night.

But it was all she had, so she sat back down on her bed and waited, clutching the flimsy fabric to her arm until eventually, the stain of blood stopped expanding. Only then did she peel it off to examine the cuts below, and to her satisfaction found that they really had stopped bleeding.

She’d have to get paper towels next time, she figured. Or bandages, somehow, or anything else that she could easily filch from the cleaning supply closet. A small stab of guilt ran through her at the sin, but she pushed it away. Some small sins were okay for the resolution of the greater sin, like white lies or breaking Grand Silence to deliver urgent news. Besides, she could repent for that as well through her new method.

She was tempted to try again, now that the bleeding stopped, but common sense prevailed; she had nothing else with which to clean the mess, and besides—she was tired. If she stayed up too late, the other sisters might notice her fatigue, and she didn’t want to draw unnecessary questions. Besides, she had the next night, and the night after that, to repent all she wanted.

For the first time in a while, Cathleen felt unburdened—like a heavy weight had just been lifted from her chest. It felt as if, without even realizing it, she’d been caught between two paths stretching her in opposite directions. As if Gabrielle’s visits, and the joy Cathleen got from seeing her, wasn’t compatible with the life she’d devoted herself to.

Only they were compatible—she just hadn’t found a way to make it work until now. Cathleen smiled at the thought and pulled her feet up to lay back on her bed. She kept the handkerchief with her, wrapping it carefully back over her cuts just in case she started bleeding again. Tiredness was dragging at her eyelids now, but she almost didn’t want to go to sleep. She was too jangled up with excitement over her revelation, her small victory in balancing her life without weakening her religious devotion.

But it was late, and once she pulled the covers over herself, it wasn’t long before Cathleen let her eyes fall shut, drifting into unconsciousness.

And despite her penance from moments before, despite the revelation she’d had and the triumph she’d felt, when Cathleen fell asleep that night she dreamed of Gabrielle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the chapter: Cathleen is panicking after her visit with Gabrielle. She doesn't know how to feel, she's having too many doubts and thinking about stuff she thought she'd put to bed long ago, and the only way she knows how to deal with that is repentance - which for her means self-harm. She finds her old tool, waits until nightfall, and then self-harms, more seriously than she's ever done. She's surprised to find that she enjoys it, because it gives her a sense of control and satisfaction, as if she's done something right. However, when she falls asleep after, she still has dreams about Gabrielle. 
> 
> The End.
> 
> Jk, but I just want to add again that I'm not trying to promote self-harm in any way. and i know i sound super paranoid writing all this out, and i'm sorry! I just want to find a balance between handling a sensitive topic and also posting a chapter i've been promising for months. And don't worry, there's some more bad times but its going to be a happy ending (and fluff, eventually).


End file.
